


Malia's Dad Has Got It Going On

by Rainy182



Series: Lost Love In The Summer, Maybe We're Better In The Fall [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Everyone is +18, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flashbacks, M/M, Malia Tate is a Hale, Peter is a bit of a jerk, Smut, Stacy's Mom Has Got It Going On, Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Know About Werewolves, Stiles is also a bit of a jerk, That song and a prompt inspired this, Werecoyote Malia Tate, half betaed, until later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 19:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy182/pseuds/Rainy182
Summary: Stiles knew that what he was doing  wouldn’t do anything  but disappoint his parents,  he also knew that it was something that a year ago he'd claim only Jackson was capable of. But honestly he didn't care all that much, not if it meant he could spend more time at the Hale house.More specifically, spend more time with Peter Hale.And if he has to date Peter Hale's daughter Malia to accomplish that, well, it's all apart of the big picture. Afterall, it's never really been that serious between the two of them.   Stiles can already see Malia dumping him for Scott any day now.So while Stiles waits for that inevitable ending to his whirlwind of a summer romance, he might as well take advantage of the Hale swimming pool.





	Malia's Dad Has Got It Going On

**Author's Note:**

> Uh this is the longest thing I've written that's not a chapter fic, and it shows. I'd like to think my lovely beta who helped me with a good chunk of this fic and put up with all the horrors of my grammar! 
> 
> Also this was supposed to come out in February (cause I was only writing this every few days), but I signed up for FandomTrumpsHate and decided that it's best to just knock all my current projects out the way as soon as possible.

Stiles knew that what he was doing  wouldn’t do anything but disappoint his parents,  he also knew that it was something that a year ago he'd claim only Jackson was capable of. But honestly he didn't care all that much, not if it meant he could spend more time at the Hale house. 

 

More specifically, spend more time with Peter Hale. 

 

And if he has to date Peter Hale's daughter Malia to accomplish that,  _ well _ , it's all apart of the big picture. After all, it's never really been that serious between the two of them.   Stiles can already see Malia dumping him for Scott any day now. 

 

So while Stiles waits for that inevitable ending to his whirlwind of a summer romance, he might as well take advantage of the Hale swimming pool. 

 

“Babe,” Stiles says turning to Malia who’s staring at her hands and sneaking looks at Scott when she think he’s not looking, then back at   the lunch table, with her acknowledgment he continues , “can I come over after class today to hang? We can have some fun using your pool.” 

 

He watches as she considers his question, her eyes going towards Scott again briefly and then back to her tightly clasped hands. “Yeah, but only if Scott can come too.” 

 

“Sure!” the true alpha readily agrees, “can I bring Isaac though?” 

 

That's  how Scott, Isaac, Jackson— which than means Danny, Lydia, and Kira too, all end up invited to Malia's house for what can now only be called a pool party. Honestly, Stiles didn't mind much, more people means he could  sneak off a little swifter without being noticed by anyone. 

 

But first he needs to confirm one, tiny, detail. 

 

“Wait, is Peter back from his conference trip?” Stiles thinks he could probably become an amazing actor with the way he managed to pull off innocent concern so well, “I know he hates large groups of people in the house if he's not there as well.” 

 

At that (totally subtle) question Lydia kicks him in the shin, giving him a sharp look that says he’s laying it on way to thick. But Malia just dismisses his concern mid-bite into her outrageously meaty sandwich. 

 

“He came back yesterday,” she leaned into Stiles shoulder giving him a quick peck, “so it won't be a problem.” 

 

It started last spring if Stiles is being honest with himself, about two weeks from High School graduation and freshly eighteen, his jeep had broken down again and he was low on cash. So he did what any other kid does in a small suburban town. 

 

He started a lawn business. 

 

That's when he met Peter Hale. 

 

The man had opened his door in nothing but a low hanging towel; droplets of water sliding down the crevices of his six pack, only to disappear from Stiles’ view as they traveled beneath the towel. The older man had a suggestive smirk on his face, his eyes having a low lit tent of electric blue in them, and his hair slicked back like he was  a bond villain. 

 

“Ah, the pool boy?” Was Stiles’ greeting as he watched mesmerized as Peter lifted one arm to rest on the doorway, effectively causing his bicep to bulge. Also effectively causing Stiles to bulge. 

 

Peter had sniffed as if he could smell it, but Stiles knew he  had to be imagining things. 

 

“Um, no sir,” Stiles breathed out shakily before clearing his throat in a hurry, “I'm actually here to totally mow your grass!” 

 

At Peter's slow smirk  Stiles could feel a deep red blush take over his face. 

 

“I mean-” before the embarrassed boy could add  _ another _ level of awkward tension, Peter cut him off. 

 

“I know,” after a brief pause Peter makes room- not very much- for Stiles to walk through, “So you must be  _ Stiles _ .”  

 

As Stiles scooted quickly past Peter to enter the house he could feel his thigh lightly brush against Peter's dick. Stiles tried to ignore the smell of pine cologne filling his nose, the slight rock of Peter's hips, and the whine building up in the back of his throat. 

 

All of a sudden Peter moved away, ambling  towards the kitchen and leaving Stiles to collect his scattered bearings. At the lack of body heat and the scent of cologne he could've swore his head was spinning. 

 

His voice was strained when he finally replied, “Yep, that's me.” 

 

But despite the volume and the distance separating Peter and Stiles, the older man still somehow heard him. Which was weird, but Stiles elected to ignore it at the time. 

 

“Great, the mower is waiting in the backyard.” 

 

After that It was almost the same interaction every weekend between Peter and Stiles. The older man would open the door barely dressed, have Stiles squeeze past him to enter the house then he'd simply leave the teen to do his job. Every time a wad of cash would be left on the countertop waiting for Stiles when he was done. It was always way over the amount that was advertised in the boys flyers around town, and helped pay off the jeep's repairs  _ way _ before Stiles initially planned. But he stilled showed every weekend, and they enacted the same dance every time. 

 

Well, until the first of May and exactly one day after graduation. 

 

It was sweltering outside and having to push a ninety pound lawn mower just made it worse. It only took twenty minutes of Stiles sweating what felt like a river and the sun beating on his neck before he peeled off his shirt. 

 

It was about that time when Peter stepped outside, sliding the glass door closed behind him, with  a glass of lemonade in hand. Like always the man was in nothing but a towel and although Stiles was pretty sure it was sweat on him that time, not water, it still caused Stiles mouth to dry up in arousal just the same.

 

“Don't mind me,” Peter's voice spoke up from behind him smooth but deceptively deep, “AC’s  out inside.” 

 

The man waved his hand in a “go on” motion and took a sip of lemonade. His eyes never leaving Stiles and looking more electric than he could ever remember them being  at any point. But the teen shook off the warm feeling that was bubbling in his stomach and continued with the last of the yard. 

 

When he was half way done he needed a break. The sun was making the metal handle of the mower scorch Stiles’ hands and his jeans were starting to stick to his legs in the painful way only blue jeans could achieve. Once the mower was turned off the sound of electric silence was all that filled the backyard of the Hale home. Not even a slight breeze to make the leaves move was present. 

 

“You missed a spot,” a voice purred  right into Stiles ear causing the young man to almost jump out of his skin- figuratively. 

 

“Just got overheated. Sir.” he shivered  out in reply, his tone tired but breathy all the same, “I just need-” 

 

“To take off your pants,” large, burning hands rested on Stiles’ waist as Peter filled in the rest of the sentence with his own idea. 

 

“Excuse me, sir?” 

 

“Take,” The hands move lower on Stiles’ body.

 

“Off,” they  moved to the button and zipper, undoing them both  slowly.

 

“Your,” for the record Stiles knew he could say no, as a sheriff's kid it's one of the first things he’d ever  learned.

 

“Pants,” He just didn't want to say no, not now, and not then. 

 

Peter's hands stop at undoing the button and zipper and he backs away after slowly nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. Giving a small bite to the back of the young man's neck, Peter turned  and made his way back towards the yellow lawn chair he’d been sitting in before. 

 

“But only if you want to,” he calls out as soon as he's settled back into his seat, his lemonade in hand once more , “yes or no?” 

 

Stiles pushed off his pants in answer and placed them on a low hanging tree branch.

 

“Oh I'll put that in the house for you,” Peter called out again as he approached Stiles and gently took the pants from his the tree branch.

 

Stiles watched Peter in silence for a few moments as if frozen, his body flushed in a red blush and the front of his dark blue boxers damp with arousal. When the older Hale gave a small nod a smirk firmly placed on his face, Stiles resumed  mowing.

 

When the yard is finally done and the lawn mower is put away, Stiles is tossed a towel from Peter. 

 

“So you don't have to put clothes on a sweaty body,” was the sly reasoning he gave. 

 

“Thanks,” the teen mumbled and proceeded to wipe the sweat off his face and arms. When done, he made his way back towards the inside of the house, planning to toss the towel in the hamper on the way to grab wherever Peter had stashed his clothes. 

 

But as he pasted Peter, the older man reached out and grabbed his arm, “you missed a spot.” 

 

Looking back over the yard Stiles tried to spot the patch of grass that was still unruly from a lack of being cut. But his eyes we’re unable to catch it and in his confusion he turned back to Peter, “Where? I don't see it…” 

 

When Peter slowly stands he's looming over Stiles even though they both share the same height. The older man lifts one hand up towards Stiles’ face, hovering just above his cheek. 

 

“May I?,” at Stiles’ slow nod Peter skims  his hand down to the teens nipple, gently rubbing his fingers over it, “you missed here.” 

 

Moving the same hand further down Peter reached  Stiles’ crotch, feeling the fabric that's now wet with precum and stretched over Stiles’ hard dick. The action causes Stiles to hiss and rock his hips forward into the hand . 

 

“And you missed here,” Peter continued nonchalantly.

 

“So, guess we're not talking about the lawn anymore huh?,” Stiles gave a breathy laugh as he lets both hands grip either arm. 

 

Peter gives a smile small and huffs out a laugh, “No, we're not.” 

“Well in that case,” Stiles finishes off his thought by letting his lips meet Peter's. At first nothing happened, partly from Peter's light shock and partly because Stiles had no idea what to do next. But then Peter began to kiss back hungrily, and soon Stiles was opening his mouth to let Peter have a stronger taste. Then in a sudden rush of arousal fueled hurry Stiles finally did the thing that he had been thinking about all spring. 

 

He reached for the low hanging towel wrapped around Peter. Stiles relished in Peter kissing down his neck as the teen let his hand wander now that the towel was pushed off. 

 

“Wait,” his hands brush from skin to more fabric, “are those boxers?” 

 

Peter hums in agreement, his hand still slowly rubbing Stiles and his teeth now starting to help him with his mission to make a consolation of bruises on the teens neck. Stiles starts to close his eyes with shudder when he feels Peter twist lightly on his nipple. But then his fingers brushed against the boxer material again and his (cursed!) curiosity is reignited. 

 

“Why are you wearing boxers underneath a towel?” 

 

Peter finally pauses letting out a sigh before lifting his head from Stiles’ collarbone to look him in the eye. 

 

“Why would I walk around in just a towel for hours on end? I could chafe that way with this heat.” Which is sound logic when put that way but really, it just makes Stiles question even more. 

“Why not wear pants?” 

 

The brunette rolls his eyes fondly, “Then how would I seduce my favorite pool boy?” 

 

“Lawn boy act-” That's when it hit Stiles, “Wait was that pool boy line back in March a come on?” 

 

Peter ignores him and  goes right back to nibbling on Stiles collarbone, figuring Stiles would  get back on the same page eventually. 

 

“Oh my god,  you never even needed me to come every weekend either!?” 

 

Peter gives a light, amused hum before slowly kissing his way down Stiles chest to his thighs, making sure to give each nipple extra special attention. 

 

“Did you shower right before I'd come here like a dork just so you'd look like a tall glass of water? And you were _always_ making me speechless!” 

 

Peter pauses to look up at Stiles his brow raised, “Obviously not always.” 

 

“Obviously not now ass-  _ ahh _ ,” Peter started mouthing at Stiles’ boxers cutting off the teens next remark. Stiles placed his hands on Peter's shoulders to stay steady and upright. 

 

“Peter,” a wine starting to enter his voice, “please.” 

 

In that moment Stiles likes to think he saw a truly wicked grin appear on Peter's face, filled with a sharpness and a dark promise of pleasure. But he was blissed out and never will be quite sure. 

 

“Please what, darling?” Peter replaces his mouth with his hand again, looking up at Stiles when he does so. 

 

“Touch me please,” a tsk is what Stiles gets in reply. 

 

“But I am touching you, my dear,” an innocent tone taking over Peter's voice. 

 

“My dick, Peter.” Stiles whined, “I want you to touch my dick.” 

 

“Ohh,” Peter pretends to come to an understanding, “you want me to touch your pretty cock baby? Pull it out of your boxers and maybe even allow you to put it in my mouth so I can suck you off.”  

 

When Stiles hurriedly nods his head in agreement Peter makes a movement towards his crotch, hands starting to open the slit of fabric in front. But in the last moment he pulls away again, his hands falling back to the teens thighs. 

 

“I don't know,”  Peter says with an air of fake consideration, “you really did hurt my feelings earlier. Calling me a “dork” and all.”

 

Stiles chokes back a sob as Peter starts to rub his over sensitive cock a little harsher, “I'm sorry. Please Peter, please I'll do whatever, just please.” 

 

“Be careful of what you promise, darling.”Was all Peter said before pulling Stiles out and sucking him down to the root. 

 

_ I think I see God,  _ was the first and only thought that went through Stiles’ mind when he felt a warm wet heat engulf him. What can only be described as a pleasure filled haze overtook his mind. After that he was just left moaning Peter's name and trying not to buck his hips with too much force. 

 

It could've been five minutes or maybe fifteen, but suddenly a pressure started to build and Stiles’ hips moved more erratically. 

 

“Peter, I'm going to cum,” a moaned warning fell from his lips. He feels Peter as start to suck harder, his hand going to fondle Stiles sack. When the teen is right on the edge Peter leans back a little, his lips now just around the very tip of Stiles member and he gives one last agonizing lick to the shiny slit. 

 

“ _ Ahhh _ ,” Stiles cums with a shout. 

 

As Stiles comes down from his high Peter rises from the ground, his lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Looking up Stiles gives a blissed out smile before leaning in to give Peter a slow kiss, a salty taste greeting his mouth. 

 

“We'll have to so that again sometime,” Stiles whispered once he pulled away, a coy smile on his face. 

 

However before Peter could answer, his head tilts as if he hears someone, and his mouth turns to a frown. 

 

“I think we'll actually have to continue this tomorrow sadly,” Stiles smile turns worried at Peters distracted but firm tone. 

 

“Um, okay…” 

 

Peter looks back towards Stiles with a small smile, “Don't worry, I didn't spend all that time seducing you just to only have you for a day.” 

 

Peter leans in for another lingering kiss, on hand putting Stiles back in his boxers and the other holding his cheek. When they finally part with one last peck, Peter reaches back to the lawn chair and retrieves Stiles’ once hidden clothes. 

 

“Here,” handling them over with a small quick smile, “Tomorrow, same time.” 

 

“Yeah tomorrow...” Stiles said as he watched Peter make his way back into the house. Once he was to himself in the yard, he quickly put his clothes on and made his way through the yard gate towards his car. 

 

He didn't know it at the time, but that was the last time he left that house covered in marked left by Peter Hale. Because when he showed the next day, in a low hanging neckline and skin tight jeans, Peter answered the door fully clothed. His hair a mess as if he'd put his hand through it several times, and his eyes cold. 

 

And he explained that what Stiles was there for couldn't happen and that he should spend the last bit of his spring and summer having fun before he leaves for college. He talked and talked and talked, didn't let Stiles get a single word in, until the very end. 

 

When he raised his brow and asked, “you understand don't you?” 

 

_ No I don't _ , was at the tip of Stiles’ tongue, until he saw movement from behind Peter, movement in the shape of a women. That's when anger set it. 

 

“That your wife?” Peter looked confused rather than guilty Stiles noticed, before he turned around to look at the person who had finally stopped moving, then his face went slack. 

 

“My daughter actually,” was Peter's simple reply. 

 

_ Oh  _

 

“Oh.”

 

“What do you mean “oh”?” Scott asked, in reply to Stiles soft spoken word. 

 

Stiles shook his head, the last remnants of memory lane falling apart. Before he looks around at the entire group who are all  looking at him in varying levels of worry. Well not Lydia, her face holds a looking of  _ knowing.  _

 

“Isn't Peter being back a good thing? Since you were worried about his house rule in the first place,” Jackson piped up in Stiles silence. 

 

“Yeah you're right,” Stiles agreed quickly, trying to think on his feet, “I was just thinking about the B.C.C fall application deadline again. I'm hoping I can get by the campus before the end of August.”

 

Scott, bless his heart, jumped right onto the lie Stiles gave right away. His tone filled with support, even if it carried a note of confusion, “You’ll be fine, Stiles. The best thing about going to the community college here is they'll give you some leeway if you need it!” 

 

“Yeah, well, I still don't want to push it,” pulling a smile onto his face he released an artificial laugh, “they probably keep a record of shit like that, you know?” 

 

Malia who had this point finished eating and was now making a sympathetic face towards Stiles, “Know one could have known Berkeley would care about what happened in middle school babe.” 

 

Lydia attempted to cover her small laugh with a cough before laying a hand on top of Stiles’, her face filled with a level of care that borders just on the side of insincere, “You can always try reapplying next year if it means that much to you.” 

 

“Thanks Lyds,” he says with an artificially sad tone, “That means a lot.”

 

_ July... _

 

“I’m not going to Berkeley,”  Stiles said suddenly as he lays across Lydia’s bed waiting for her to get ready for a night at The Jungle.

 

He rolls his eyes at the sound of a makeup drawer being slammed shut and the hurried sound of heels hitting the marble floor as Lydia makes her way towards him. _ And she calls me dramatic _ he thinks as he rolls over from his back to his stomach just in time to see Lydia standing at the end of the bed. Her hands are resting on her hips as a small frown covers her face, her hair still in rollers and her make up only half done, but somehow she still looks as beautiful as ever. The thought makes him smile in a half nostalgia for simpler times, when his biggest crush was on the popular girl in school, and half proud of his best friend sort of way.

 

“Why are you smiling Stiles?” Lydia questions with now narrowed eyes, “ _ You just got rejected for your dream school _ , our dream school, and you’re smiling! Actually, you know what? I’ll just have my Father call them up, it’s the least he can do-” 

 

“First of all,” Stiles cuts off, “That’s would not be a good pep speech for me if I was rejected. But thank you for wanting to pull strings. Secondly-” 

 

“Wait you weren’t rejected,” Lydia inquires, “But-”

 

“Secondly,” Stiles barrels on, “I declined Berkeley. I’m going to go to Beacon Hills Community College.”  

 

“Why?” When Stiles just gives her a look, she sighs in displeasure, before turning back towards her walk in closet to go back to getting ready for the Friday night. Stiles finally sits up, pulling out his phone to text Malia. 

 

**Stiles** :  _ You coming to The Jungle? _

**Lia:** _No, having dinner with Dad_.

 **Lia:** _Harry, not Peter._

**Stiles:** Okay.  _ You should come though, we can have fun;) _

 

“I don’t know how that Hale has got you so wrapped up in them,” Lydia calls out from the other room, “I mean what about Malia?” 

 

 **Lia:** _Really? And how so?_

 

“What about her?” Stiles calls back. 

“What the fuck do you mean  _ what about her _ ?” Lydia yells appald. 

**Stiles:** _Scott will be there, and I think he’s finally over Allison._

 

“I don’t see the problem?” Stiles questions, “Not like we’re in love.” 

 

 Lydia finally walks back into the main room, her entire look complete, and gives Stiles the deadliest look ever. 

 

“Just because she agreed to you half-assed plan at getting back at Peter, doesn’t mean she’ll be fine when it’s all over.” Lydia says with a forced calm, “Anyone with two eyes can see she and Scott have fucking moon eyes towards each other. But she won't dump you because then you can’t “temp Peter” or whatever your plan is. And Scott won’t swoop her away because you two are like brothers.” 

 

Lydia lays a hand on Stiles shoulder, her eyes level with his as she leans down, “This will only end in chaos. And everyone will get hurt... _ including you. _ ” 

 

Stiles looks at her silently for a few moments before his phone buzzes. Shrugging off her hand from his shoulder he goes to look at the text once he sees that it’s Malia. 

 

 **Lia:** _I’ll be there in an hour. Two if Dad is cooking lasagna._

 

Looking back towards Lydia he gives a somewhat shaky smile, her words getting to him a little more than he would’ve liked. But not enough to call the whole thing off. Not this close to what he wants. 

 

“I’ve-  _ we’ve _ \- got it covered Lyds,” he says with a confidence he does not have, “We really do.”  

 

_ Now... _

 

July is famous throughout the county for being the hottest month of the year and that’s probably true in places like Texas or New Mexico. But here in Beacon Hills California, August owns that title all to itself. Looking out the Jeep front window the road, swaying in the dry heat, almost looks like a mirage. If Stiles didn’t know that the road was actually there, he’d probably fall for the illusion, but instead he keeps powering on. The sun in the clear sky slow cooking  the leather seats through the glass, while also making the young man wish he’d fixed the AC weeks ago. 

 

But eventually he turns off the road and onto a beaten dirt path. The trees that surround him blocking off the sun with their thick branches and wide green leaves. And although the car still feels heated on the inside, Stiles is just relieved to no longer feel the sun beating down on his exposed skin. His idea of arriving to the Hale home already in his swimwear now resulting in red tinted skin and sticky thighs. 

 

The radio, which had been playing a mix of classic rock and show tunes, begins to fade into static the deeper into the preserve Stiles drives. Until finally about three fourths of the way to the house Stiles just turns it off. Letting the sound of tires crunching of dead fallen leaves and twigs fill his ears. Sadly though, they don’t drown out his thoughts, not even when his stomach twist in anxiety as he finally sees the house. 

 

Stiles finally wonders if he is even doing the right thing in this moment. If he should turn around, send a quick text to Malia calling it off and see if Berkeley will still take him. For the first time ever he wonders if maybe Peter Hale isn’t being reluctant for some superficial reason but  _ honestly doesn’t care _ . By the time he pulls up towards the house he’s a combination of doubt and fear. Casting a glance at the multiple cars that line up next to his, he decides to go through the backyard to get to the pool rather than the front door, if only to clear his head. And clear his worries. 

 

_ The key to the yard gate should still be _ \- 

 

“Everyone was wondering where you were,” a voice says from behind Stiles, cutting off his thoughts and his search. 

 

Turning around Stiles finds himself faced with Peter, the man sporting only a pair of black swim trunks and a smile. Loss for immediate words he just continues to look at the older man. He grew out a beard, giving his face a softer look, sexy as ever but soft. Stiles lets his eyes trail downwards stopping at the black tattoo that rest on his hip, a geometric triangle with long strokes of dark lines. 

 

“Take a picture it’ll last lon-” Peter tried to joke before Stiles cut him off with a question.

 

“You’re an Alpha?” 

 

Peter looks down to his tattoo before giving a soft chuckle, “I see you know about werewolves now?” 

 

“Yeah well, Malia has trouble with her shift sometimes….” Stiles reply before trailing off. 

 

“I would’ve told you eventually,” Peter says, his words triggering a white hot flash of anger inside Stiles. 

 

“Really?” At the older man’s nod Stiles continues on, his voice gaining in volume, “When would that have been? Before or after you ignored me this past summer? Or how about when you dropped me like a hot rock back in May?” 

 

Peter opened his mouth in attempt to defend himself but Stiles only moved closer to the man before barreling on. His finger going to point in the man’s chest in an accusatory way as his face starts to clearly show his furor. His brows lowering to his eyes has an angry blush grows on his neck.

 

“No! You don’t get to talk Peter,” his voice low in pitch despite the volume of it, “Just fyi,  _ I _ wouldn’t and don’t care about you having a daughter. I don’t care that you get furry once a month, and I don’t care about the age difference. Those are all concerns  _ you  _ told me I have.  And if that weren’t enough you behaved like a  _ coward  _ and disappeared for most of the summer just to avoid me. Because apparently giving me the silent treatment like a five year old wasn’t enoug-” 

 

Stiles rant was cut off by Peter’s cruel sounding laugh as he grabbed Stiles’ hand that was poking at his chest, “Me? A child?” 

 

The older man used Stiles’ hand to tug him closer as he leaned down towards his ear. His wolf closer to the surface than Stiles originally noticed, as the younger man could hear the slight slur of his words through fangs. 

 

“I’m not the one who’s play dating to get their crush jealous,” Peter’s voice low as he spoke. It took a few moments for Stiles’ brain to catch up, but once it did he could feel his heart stutter in panic. Confused at how Peter could even know that he and Malia are faking Stiles lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. 

“I don’t know-”

 

But Peter continues on, “Did you know that Werewolves can smell emotions...among other things? Now mind you, when I first smelt you on Malia I wanted to tear everything in the house apart. And I wish I could say for the obvious fatherly reasons, but no it  _ was  _ jealousy. But then I started to notice something, what to know what?” 

 

“What?” Stiles whispers out as he turns his head to look at Peter. His eyes meet red ones, shining a ruby like glow and he finds himself leaning closer and closer to Peter’s slightly smug face. 

 

He was only a hare’s breath away from the man when he felt more than heard what Peter whispered, “I never smelt sex.” 

 

“She did say not sleeping together would be an easy give away.” Stiles says with a little laugh, completely defusing some of the tension, “Now I know why.” 

 

But still, Stiles takes a step back and tilts his head in question, his humors mood gone as swiftly as it came. And he looks at the man in front of him, the man he’d spent all summer trying to obtain, the man he’d altered future plans for and even if he can’t say it out loud used friends for. He looks at him and he gives a smile, sad but still somewhat hopeful, and he starts to walk past Peter and towards his jeep. 

 

“Wait, where are you going?” Stiles hears from over his shoulder, the confusion in the wolf's voice as clear as day.  

 

“I’m going to Berkeley, I think I heard they have rollover admission.” When Stiles finally reaches the car he turns back around and looks back towards Peter, “When you ready, call me. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be free.” 

 

Stiles didn’t stick around to take in Peter’s shocked face and he didn’t stay around to have a public messy “breakup” with Malia, nor did he stay around to hear Lydia’s “I told you so’s” or Scott’s “I’m here if you want to talk.” He instead started his jeep and drove, right out of the shadowy preserve that kept his car and him cool. And he listened to the sound of dead fallen leaves and twigs crunching under rubber tires, he turned back on the radio about one fourth of the way in, and he let listened as the static slowly faded away to the sound of classic rock and show tunes. And when he finally broke out of the treeline, and turned back onto the open road, he did not doubt nor regret.

 

He just felt the sun beat down on his face and he smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> This WILL get a sequel! It'll be in Peter's POV, but I won't start seriously writing it until after Spring Break!  
> Speaking of college, I'm back in it and we all know what that means (especially with the shutdown messing with FinAid). So I'll basically be A-WAL online until after school.


End file.
